Christmas
by glass-jars
Summary: Berwald, Tino, and little Peter enjoy the holiday season. Gets a little... inappropriate... at the end but not too bad.


A/N: Just something gentle and domestic. Didn't feel like dealing with confessions or angst, so it's post-relationship. Also. I use the word "fairy-lights" at some point. I am not British, I am American. I just watch a lot of Peppa Pig with my little brother, and too much Sherlock, and sometimes I spell "grey" funny. "Gray." "Grey." Anyhow. Yes. Enjoy. It's sweet. I hope.

Berwald paused for a rest, panting a bit and letting the rope drop to the snow. The other end, he left hooked about the little fir tree, wound through the branches. He stretched, reaching his arms up into the sky. He craned his head back with a soft sigh, gazing at the cold blue sky skidded across with white clouds. As his breathing grew more steady he turned back to observe the tree, a hand on his hip. He sighed, glancing over his shoulder. It was just a bit farther—he was actually at the front gate already. So he flipped up the latch and propped it open with an icy rock.

He pulled the rope back over his shoulder and dragged the tree to the front door, leaving a needled path through the snow. Jiggled the knob and kicked the door open awkwardly. Luckily the tree wasn't especially large, so he could maneuver it through the door with some semblance of ease.

He continued to drag it to where it needed to be, until it was finally propped up against the wall near the window in the sitting room.

Berwald brushed his hands off, letting himself fall into his favorite chair—big and dark blue and overstuffed. He sighed. He'd have to vacuum soon, or Tino would have a hernia when he got home—the floor was carpeted with fragrant green needles. But for now… he could rest…

Berwald woke to the sound of the vacuum cleaner. He blinked groggily, straightening his glasses and looking toward the loud sound that had disturbed his sleep.

He saw Tino, vacuuming the carpet in a baby blue cable knit sweater and skinny grey jeans that were just tight enough to show off his well-padded thighs. (Not that he was overweight or anything—just… the small amount of extra weight he had was focused around his hips and thighs… He filled out his clothes nicely.)

Berwald's expression softened. He felt a bit bad that Tino was cleaning up after him.

"Tino." The sturdy blonde man didn't hear him. He raised his voice, "Tino."

Tino jumped, and looked over her shoulder, startled. He switched off the machine and gave his housemate a gentle smile. "Ber,"

Berwald returned his smile stiffly, still finding the expression to be strange and unfamiliar on his own face, and hoped he didn't look too threatening. Tino suddenly looked as if he had just remembered something and approached Berwald delightedly. "Ber, thanks so much!" He threw himself at his bear of a husband, almost knocking Berwald's glasses off his face as he hugged him.

"Huh?" Berwald wrinkled his eyebrows.

"The tree!" Tino laughed, his pretty purple eyes twinkling eagerly. "It's perfect!"

Realization cleared Berwald's face and he blushed, nuzzling Tino bashfully. "'S no problem…" He held onto Tino, careful not to squeeze too hard.

Tino grinned and kissed Berwald's cheek, and tilted his man's face up to meet his eyes. "It must've been heavy, though…" His cheeks were a tad pink, his smile small, his lashes drooping. Berwald noticed those unconscious signals and his face grew scarlet. Tino probably didn't realize it himself, but it was obvious he wanted a kiss—the way his head was tilted and the way his lips were parted… Berwald had seen this expression before and could immediately recognize it for what it was.

It was absolutely adorable and extremely tempting.

Berwald licked his lips nervously, suddenly shy. Then, "Tino."

Tino watched him intently. "Yes, Ber?"

"Uh… Peter'll be home soon…"

Tino started. He realized the awkward position he was in— straddling Berwald in an armchair by the fireplace, with Berwald's hands planted on his hips, their faces mere centimeters apart.

He blushed crimson and clambered off his husband's lap, stuttering half an apology.

Berwald sighed. He'd ruined a nice moment by bringing up Peter. He'd just felt so shy and unsure of himself. "…'M gonna put up the tree…" he mumbled.

"Good idea…!" Tino bit his lip, twisting the hem of his sweater between his hands awkwardly. He looked disappointed and embarrassed. With a little sigh, he turned away from Berwald and put a small log on the fire to keep it going, and glanced at the clock as Berwald fastened the tree into its stand.

It was almost four. Peter would be home any second.

As if Tino's thoughts were a cue, he heard the hiss, rumble and squeak of the bus outside, the slam of the front door, and the thud of little footsteps as Berwald's boy shouted, "I'm home!"

He was about to burst into the sitting room, but before he could Tino grabbed him under the armpits and lifted him up, returning to the hallway. He looked sternly at the boy and said, "Off with your shoes. I just vacuumed!"

The boy rolled his eyes cheekily, crouching down with a grumble to remove his boots.

The second his shoes were off he bolted past Tino, nearly unbalancing him and crying, "Papa!"

Tino could hear Berwald's grunt as Peter slammed into him. He smiled softly to himself and returned to the sitting room. He ruffled Peter's hair and gave his husband a peck on the cheek, standing on tiptoe to do so, and murmured, "I'll go make something sweet."

Berwald grunted at him in the affirmative and Tino made his way to the kitchen, leaving Peter and Berwald to finish putting together the tree, with Hana-Tamago—who had just woken from her nap beside the fire—yipping around their feet.

Berwald shooed the little dog away, making certain that the tree was indeed secure, then backed away, giving it a long look up and down. It looked pretty good, silhouetted by the window. He gave a satisfied smirk and sat in his chair, letting out a huff of air as both his son and his dog barreled noisily into his lap.

"Careful," he warned Peter.

Peter said, "Sorry Papa!" without seeming apologetic at all.

Berwald rolled his eyes and gathered them close in his arms contentedly.

By the time Tino returned to the sitting room, with a plate of hot thumbprint cookies, all three had fallen asleep—no. Berwald opened his eyes upon Tino's approach, hearing Tino's quiet footsteps across the carpet. Peter and Hana, however, really were asleep.

Tino smiled at Berwald's gently appreciative expression, whispering, "How sweet…" He set the platter of cookies down on the coffee table and sat on the arm of Berwald's chair, leaning against him quietly. Berwald took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

He mumbled, "love you…"

Tino gave him a teeny kiss on the top of his head, then ruffled his short whitish hair and stood. "We should decorate the tree so Peter has something beautiful to wake up to."

The tall Swede nodded and stood, carefully cradling Peter in his arms. He set the boy on the couch and followed Tino to get the ornaments.

When Peter woke up the fire had died down and the room was aglow with fairy lights of blue and purple and white strung across the ceiling in a web. The tree glittered with tinsel and glass balls and a sparkly star, all wrapped round with pale green lights. He clapped his hands ecstatically and noticed the one thing missing.

"Papa, Papa!" He leapt off the couch, grabbing Berwald—who was sitting in his chair reading—eagerly. "I wanna put on the candy canes!" He absolutely bubbled with excitement.

"After dinner," Berwald rumbled, with a low chuckle.

Peter looked disappointed. But then he perked up. The smell wafting from the kitchen was delightful. He hurried to the source of the scent, curious as to what his Papa's wife was cooking.

Tino turned with a smile at the sound of little feet pattering across the tiling. He looked down at the boy who tugged his apron strings and said, "Good evening, Peter. You had a nice nap, hm?"

Peter nodded.

"Are you hungry?"

Peter nodded even more energetically, wide-eyed and questioning.

"Great." Tino's grin widened. "I made some lohiketto,(1) and afterwards there are cookies." He mussed Peter's hair.

Peter cheered and scrambled to his seat, plopping down just as Berwald entered the kitchen with a stretch (having dawdled to finish the page he was on), brushing his fingers against the low ceiling. As Tino placed their dishes on the table, Berwald wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck.

Tino swatted at him, stifling a giggle. "Knock it off, Ber! That tickles!" He blushed. Berwald squeezed him lovingly, pinching some of Tino's extra chub and eliciting a squeak, and sat down in his spot beside Tino.

Peter just looked at them and stated, "Kissing is gross."

Tino laughed, covering his mouth.

After dinner Tino sat sipping coffee in Berwald's lap as Peter pranced about on his tippy-toes hooking striped candy canes on the branches of the tree, with one in his mouth.

Tino rummaged in the sweets dish on the coffee table, leaning a bit forward to do so, and popped a piece of salty salmiakki (2) into his mouth, resting his head against Berwald's chest as he set down his coffee on the little side table. He hummed happily to himself. Hana-Tamago jumped up into his lap, and he scratched behind her ears.

Berwald chuckled to himself softly. It was obvious that a child had hung some of the décor on the tree, because the swath of pinstriped candy and strung popcorn stopped abruptly about five feet up. That left a foot of candy-free tree. He stooped down and took about a dozen canes from the base of the tree, as well as a string of popcorn and cranberries—they didn't need Hana to eat it all and get ill, after all—and transferred them to some higher areas of the tree. He straightened the star, turned out all the lights, made sure the fire was completely dead, and headed to the bedroom to wait for Tino, who was putting Peter to bed. The dog was asleep in his chair.

After maybe ten minutes, Tino walked into their bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him so as not to make too much noise. He began to change into his pajamas—a set of blue-grey flannel that was just a little too large on him—and then padded into the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet.

Berwald lay back against his pillow and set his glasses on the nightstand. He closed his eyes with a tired sigh to wait for his pretty young man.

The bed springs creaked and Berwald opened his eyes as Tino crawled into his arms, pulling the blankets up behind him and over their legs like a cloak. He smiled up at Berwald.

"Feet're cold…" Berwald grumbled, pressing his face into Tino's neck lovingly.

Tino suppressed a shiver. "And your _nose_ is cold, so we're even." He kissed Berwald's ear, and shifted around to lay more comfortably in his husband's arms. Soon they were both pretty warm, and as Berwald reached to turn off the light he grunted,

"Love ya."

Tino smiled quietly to himself. "I love you too, Ber. Good night." He laid his head on Berwald's chest.

"Night."

The next few days leading up to Christmas were rather hectic—Peter had off from school, so Berwald entertained him at home while Tino did the last of the Christmas shopping.

Berwald sat on his and Tino's bed Christmas Eve surrounded by slips and swaths and rolls of wrapping paper, wielding a pair of safety scissors in one hand, trapping presents in their shiny, wintery paper. Through the door he could hear Tino and Peter giggling, and Hana-Tamago yipping excitedly. Must've been the laser pointer. He smiled. His little family, so rowdy and sweet… He was as happy as he'd ever been, with them. Happier. Spending his life in this house with these people… was something he greatly looked forward to. Was all he could ever need.

He finished with his gift-wrapping shortly, and made his way quietly to the sitting room, arms laden with six colorful boxes—four for his baby and two for his wife.

"Presents!" Peter nearly knocked Berwald off his feet, but the tall man steadied himself and patted the boy on the head tenderly.

Smilingly, Tino pulled their little boy out of the way so Berwald could organize the gifts under the tree. He noticed a few boxes already there, with the marks of a child's handiwork, labeled "To PaPa from Petr and Teeno. 3 " He couldn't help but smile, then straightened up.

"Now," Berwald stretched, hands reaching higher than the tree, and sat in his chair, taking a cookie. (Tino had made more during lunchtime.) "Time for gifts, yes? But only half." He smiled as Peter eagerly tried to decide which ones he would open. He had the four of them, so half should be easy. But of course, each box could contain any manner of exciting things!

Tino said, "Peter, why don't you pick the two little ones, and save the big ones for morning?"

(Most of the families in the region opened all of their presents on the Eve, but Tino and Berwald had found that splitting them up was a great way to get Peter to behave for a little while longer.)

"Okay!" Peter grabbed two flat little packages all glittery and red, and jumped up onto his Papa's lap.

Berwald had made sure to wrap them loosely, with only a little bit of tape, so they popped open without too much struggling from the child on his lap.

Peter was wide-eyed and delighted with his two little board books—one about witches in Lapland and one from America about boats. He flipped through them eagerly, bouncing up and down in his Papa's lap. Berwald plopped Peter onto the floor to let his thighs regain their circulation and to protect his nether regions from any damage the kid's bony butt could do.

He eyed the tree. Two gifts for him, two for Tino. One of each was from Peter, clumsily wrapped and impossible to guess at from the shape.

He smiled.

Tino was being tackled into submission by Peter, who desperately wanted him to open his present. Tino finally obliged, and struggled through the layers of paper and tape Peter had used to eventually uncover a little shriveled up apple slice encrusted with sparkles and cinnamon, with a hole punched in it, looped through with a thin red ribbon. Tino smiled.

"I'll treasure it forever." He kissed Peter's forehead. Peter stuck his tongue out, wiping his sleeve against his face to clean off the "cooties," then pounced on Berwald with _his _gift in hand.

"Papa, Papa!" He pushed the present into Berwald's hands with a huge grin plastered across his face. Berwald took the small box and tore it clear of its paper and smiled minutely after removing the lid from the box.

It was a little rag doll with macaroni sewn to its head for hair, and buttons sewn on for eyes. Obviously Peter hadn't done all of the work—the stitches were too neat—but he'd done most of it. Berwald looked at Tino, who had sat on the arm of his chair, and took his hand, pressing a light kiss to his wife's knuckles. Tino smiled at him, red-faced from embarrassment. "Ber.. Don't look at me with those silly eyes…"

Berwald raised his eyebrows and turned to his son to say, "Thanks Peter. I love it." He patted his son's head.

Tino ruffled Berwald's short hair teasingly, leaning into him. "You look scary, but you sure are a softy, Ber." He smiled sweetly.

Berwald blushed, and grunted something noncommittally affirmative.

Tino laughed at him.

Berwald smiled. He was so happy to hear that laugh. It reminded him that he had friends, and people who cared about him. Tino was no longer afraid of him, and could smile with so much ease. Tino had grown so much happier, too. His palms were softening, his face was smoothed out, he had put on a small amount of weight, he laughed and grinned and teased, and he was completely relaxed around Berwald and his friends. No longer jumpy—around strangers or otherwise. No longer fearing the wrath of his old boss. His ex.

Berwald pulled Tino into his lap roughly, wrapping his arms tightly around his slightly plump little wife, kissing the top of his head. "…love you Tino… I love you."

Tino turned a delicious shade of pink, stammering unintelligibly. He averted his pretty amethyst eyes, hiding them under long lashes. Then smiled shyly up at Berwald, wrapping his arms around his neck lovingly.

Peter, disgusted, turned to play with the dog while his Papa and his Papa's wife snuggled and tickled and laughed in Papa's chair. Grown-ups were so gross, he'd decided. Always kissing and hugging and all that icky stuff. Bleagh! He just didn't understand the appeal of slobbering on someone. Gross!

Next morning it was Christmas Day and Peter finally got to open his other two presents—a toy dump truck and a dolly with a removable diaper. He was delighted!

Tino's gift from Papa was a tiny, tiny crow carved from wood, with exquisite details. Tino kissed Papa happily and he was crying but Peter didn't know why. Tino said they were happy tears and that the bird was significant to his culture. They kissed some more and Peter rolled his eyes, petting the dog. Then Papa opened his gift from Tino. He looked at it and looked happy, though a lot of people would have thought he looked angry, but Peter knew by the way his mouth twisted and the way his eyes got dark that he was very happy.

It was a pretty watercolor of the mountains, with a big bear in the front, rolling in the snow.

Tino said it wasn't very good, but Papa and Peter both thought it was amazing.

They had a yummy Christmas dinner that afternoon, with the whole Christmas table set up, and Peter got to have some of his very own coffee. It was very exciting and he was very tired at the end of the day.

Later, after Peter was tucked away snugly in his bed, Tino and Berwald held each other close. Tino's face was red from laughing—his Bear had decided it would be fun to tickle him until his entire face was the color of a ripe tomato. Berwald smiled quietly at him, and Tino huffed, trying not to smile back. But he couldn't help it, and grinned. "You're evil, Ber, you know that?"

Berwald grunted, rolling on top of Tino with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. His fingers wandered in a less playful manner than before, and he stroked his thumb across Tino's jaw line, giving him a wordless kiss as he smoothed Tino's flax-colored hair back from his forehead. Tino twined his arms about Berwald's wiry waist and returned his kiss with twice the passion, letting his eyes drift half-closed. The look in his eyes was dreamy and distracted and desirous and made Berwald blush. Tino pulled away briefly to say, "Your eyes are a pretty shade of green…" and pressed their lips together once again.

Berwald's stomach fluttered shyly all the way up through his throat like butterflies as he ran his hands through Tino's hair. He liked to touch Tino's hair because it was soft, and he knew Tino liked it when he touched his hair, and massaged his scalp—it was relaxing and comforting.

Tino made a small noise in his throat. Berwald broke their kiss and sat up, and slipped his shirt over his head, and pulled Tino's shirt off before the young man could do it himself. Tino blushed, looking to the side.

Berwald had very nice abs.

Berwald ran his fingers reverently down Tino's sides, feeling the smoothness and softness of his skin. He kissed him gently all over, covering Tino with his love, and further undressing him with both his hands and his eyes. After some awkward maneuvering all of their clothing was on the floor or at the foot of the bed, and Berwald was kissing Tino needily.

This… The fact that he could do _this_ with Tino—touch him and kiss him and hold him and love him—made Berwald so, so happy. Tino squirming redly beneath him made Berwald's heart skip a beat in disbelief and happiness. A year or two ago he'd never have thought he would be allowed to hold Tino in this intimate way. If someone had told him he'd one day marry the boy he jokingly (longingly) called "Wife," he would have punched them in the face and gone off to hide.

But now… He really could have Tino. Tino saw him as more than a friend and more than a frightening stranger. When Tino had asked him out, Berwald had just about had a heart attack, and cried because he was so happy…

Berwald kissed and kissed and kissed Tino—every inch of his body.

Tino sighed and hummed and whined quietly, closing his eyes and crinkling his eyebrows.

Sweet, tender kisses and caresses. Tino curved against Berwald's touches, savoring the brush of his rough fingertips on his skin. He barely noticed when Berwald's lips were on his lips (instead of his thighs or his collarbone or his stomach) and only moaned quietly against Berwald's mouth.

He was too distracted to tell if Berwald used a condom or not—could only tell that he felt good and he trusted Berwald and assumed he was being safe and that the teeny, tiny deep-throated noises Berwald made were adorable—and only panted and mumbled incoherently through their kisses.

They twined themselves together.

A/N: Wow. Does everything I write have sex? HURR HURR HURR this is my OTP, man.

1: Lohiketto = Creamed salmon soup. I think.

2: Salmiakki = Salted black licorice. Wikipedia it, it's insane. D:


End file.
